“Did you notice anything else about him? Did he seem worried?”
“No. Just tired.”
“Did he tell you that Jepson had acquired Bishopps through a nominee company?”
“Oh, that old rumour! It’s been going the rounds for a long time, but it’s never come to anything. One or two big shareholders have wanted to buy Bishopps, but that’s all. The Jepsons have control with about sixty per cent of the shares.”
“It isn’t a rumour, Bishopps is now owned by Jepsons,” Rollison declared.
James Matthison Jones looked bewildered.
“Well, if they own both places, the stuff at Bishopps could hardly have been stolen could it? What the devil’s going on, Rollison?”
“That’s exactly what we have to find out,” Rollison said very slowly.
* * *
Gresham Terrace was watched still by a Yard man, but the flat was empty. Rollison went straight to his bedroom and took an old suit from the wardrobe; one which looked as if he had slept in it, and which would have been third best even for a man at the docks. He put this on; and there was a smell of coal dust about it, also a smell of oil. He rubbed his hands over his face, without making it look too dirty, tied a choker round his neck and pulled on an old cloth cap, with a ragged peak. Next, he put on a pair of rubber-soled shoes which were solid enough but had seen better days.
He clipped on the knives, put another gun into his pocket, a gas pistol like the one he had first used against Wallis.
He had a queer feeling about Wallis; it was almost as if the man was watching him, although he was in jail, and as though one of the hooligans who would so readily do what he asked was outside.
He waited until there was a knock at the front door, went across, opened the door a fraction, and said:
“Who is it?”
“There’s a packet here from Radio and Recording Supplies, sir.”
“Put it down and leave it, will you?”
“Very good, sir.”
Rollison waited until the man’s footsteps had gone, then opened the door cautiously: Wallis might have powerful friends ready to attack. The landing was empty. The packet, neatly wrapped up in brown paper, looked innocent enough. Rollison took it into the big room, and undid it cautiously. Inside was a small tape recorder, worked from a battery, extremely sensitive and with enough tape to record for nearly an hour.
And it would go into his pocket.
“Thanks, Bill,” said Rollison.
He went out the back way, and was quite sure that no one who saw him knew who he was.
He walked to the nearest Tube station and went to Charing Cross, changed there for the train to Whitechapel. It was a little after eleven o’clock when he arrived, and only a dozen people got off at the station. No one looked at him twice. He walked with a kind of swagger, as if he’d had more than enough to drink and stared down at the ground all the time. Outside, he turned first towards the Blue Dog, passing the gymnasium, where lights were still on.
He headed for Dirk Street and the docks.
No ships were being worked nearby, all the dockside noises came from some distance off; that was a pity. He walked along Dirk Street, and saw lights at several of the houses, including Wallis’s. He went to the back of the house, using a narrow alley, found out which was the rear entrance, and made himself familiar with the little back yard. Then he went back towards the gymnasium, but did not go too close to the lights.
“Want anyfink?” a man asked.
“Ebbutt arahnd?”
“He’s too busy to touch tonight, mate.”
“I got information to sell.”
“Wot abaht?”
“Rollison.”
The name worked like a charm. The man hurried into the gymnasium, and Ebbutt soon came out. He approached Rollison, wheezing in the chilly night air, and as he drew near he flashed a torch into Rollison’s face.
Wot the hell—” he began, and then caught his breath.
“Easy, Bill,” Rollison whispered. “I want a kip for the night, somewhere I can get away from early in the morning. Can I have a camp bed in the gym?”
“It’s all yours, Mr. Ar.”
“Forget the Mr. Ar. Anyone else sleeping there tonight?”
“No.”
“Fine. Any news for me?”
“There are a couple of blokes at Wallis’s place, Wallis ain’t taking no more chances with his wife.”
